The Colors on Our Shoulders
by LarcSakurai
Summary: England is sent to America in a "take one for the team" fashion, only to find history repeating itself.


It loomed high above him, the home he usually found so quaint and warm suddenly breathing out an air of foreboding. The trees shivered under the nip of the wind crossing their boughs, erect and taught as the hairs on the back of the Englishman's neck. His heart caught in his throat, constricting tighter with each thin rasp of breath. Everything around screamed for him to turn back, turn away from the perfect little colonial rising overhead waiting to devour his spirit. Within these walls sat the demon. The demon they convinced him to seduce, here in his secluded little lair. A 'take one for the team' sort of ordeal but as always with them on the safe side of the picket fences. As always with Arthur bearing his throat to guillotine. This would hardly be the first time he would be the martyr to their foul dealings but the blade slit his throat deeper with each encounter and Arthur knew it would not be much longer before the last drop was squeezed from his veins.

Pushing open the door he made his way inside. The door slammed firmly closed behind him, echoing through the handmade halls. He could not deny how proud he was looking around this home on a normal occasion. Alfred had put together everything himself, the floors to the ceilings were all a testament to the American's handiwork. Yet now he felt none of the fatherly adoration, replaced with the dread of duty. His palm was soaked, clinging tighter to the briefcase held tight in his hand. No amount of money in the world would domesticate the demon ahead. Nothing short of every dime. Arthur clenched his eyes shut, trying to put himself into the necessary mindset. It was all a lie. All just a pathetic procrastination technique to keep hisel from having to stare into those eyes. The hungry, demonic eyes that didn't belong on his kindhearted, obnoxious son. The eyes the leaders had fashioned him with, crushing with their words and false promises chiseling away the innocence to leave behind the gaze of the devil himself.

Slowly venturing within, England wound through the beautiful home to stand before the solid oak door of Alfred's office chamber. He gripped the door handle firmly, taking one more breath before going inside. The man at the desk was dressed in crisp black, a white shirt and tie red as the blood squeezed from his veins. Haunting blue eyes slowly lifted from the screen of the laptop before him watching silently as Arthur drew forward and placed himself into the chair across the desk. Alfred's eyes drew a little lower, noting the briefcase in hand creasing an amused, cynical smile into his face.

"Another bribe?" He asked, looking almost amused.

Arthur spoke nothing, simply lifting it onto the desk and flipping the lock. He gasped as a hard grip fell upon his small hand, pushing the British man from the offering. Storms swirled in those eyes, any shred of amusement vanishing as quickly as it had come.

"I've no more interest in your sorry bribes. Where is the payment for the lives you destroyed? For the coastline you've decimated? Do you realize the damage your people's little upset has carved into me?" Arthur hated him. Hated the man who sat before the flag of his son. This was not Alfred. This was not the child he had raised, the boy he loved, the man who had stood before him in the rain two hundred years ago. He did not know who summoned forth this devil but he would destroy them for it.

"I'm simply doing as I'm told. We- They, are trying to come up with the solution, America." He almost spit the name of the nation onto the desk. Arthur would not endear this monster with his son's name.

"Is that so?" America's brow raised. "Then what brings you here? I had not summoned you for any sort of meeting. I figured the lawsuit more than adequately described where we stand on this issue."

Silence. England simply watched as the demon uncrossed his legs and rose from the chair. Folding his arms behind him, America strode over to the mirror, reaching out to run a gloved hand over the stripes of Glory beside him. Arthur nearly ripped the flag from the other's hand. That was what his son had fought for, and he had no right to desecrate it! Yet as he turned back around, those piercing eyes nailed him firmly into the plush chair.

A low, dark laugh fell from his lips. "Now I understand."

"Understand what?" Arthur asked, tensing as the other man drew closer to him. Strong hands fell upon his arms pinning them down firmly, hovering inches above his face.

"You will offer whatever it is he wants. Was that your command, Arthur?"

"England." he spit in the demon's face. "You are not Alfred. You have no right to call me that."

"Oh, I'm not?" America threw England to the floor, easily pinning the smaller man beneath his weight. "I'm the United States, Alfred F. Jones. Your precious little boy. Why, who else would I be?"

"I don't know who the bloody hell you are! But you're not. my. ALFRED!" Arthur threw his forehead up into the other's face, satisfied by the screech of pain. A hand slammed his head back into the floor, ripping open the smaller nation's shirt. Blood dripped from America's nose, trembling with rage.

"How DARE you. You blind, idealistic fool. I am but one man! One face! One nation! And if you have forgotten where it is you stand, if you have forgotten who it is I am then perhaps while your memory fails you..." At this Arthur was shoved down face first, arms drawn up painfully behind him, "Your body will recall all too eagerly."

Arthur slumped to the ground, eyes clenched shut as the first gloved finger breeched him. Pain shot through his spine up to the rendezvous in his brain. Tears spilled forth as the fingers violated him roughly. This was not Alfred. This was not his baby, his beloved son. Yet why did his chest ache so badly? What was this betrayal hanging heavy on his heart? Was it betrayal after all? He was forced over onto his back, that handsome face above him once more, hands firmly planted on his hips.

No.

Not betrayal.

The first shock sent Arthur screaming, a hand coming back across his mouth hard. He obediently silenced, crudely riding the thrusts of the man above him if for nothing else than to minimalize the damage on himself. Looking back into those eyes, his own spilling falls of tears, it was sympathy he found. Arthur could see the true Alfred within those demon's eyes, screaming and pleading for his father to hold onto. To make all the pain, all their words, go away. To free his soul of the demon he'd built to protect himself from the lies of his politicians. Just to be able to bear the burden of who he was.

It was looking in a mirror.

A mirror of his younger self.

When the demon finally exhausted itself, he pulled away. Hurriedly dressing himself, Alfred bolted for the door, tripping to meet the floor at the hand on his ankle. Arthur weakly pulled himself up, not even caring to dress as he dragged himself over to the trembling body he knew and loved. Slowly reaching out, he tried to envelop Alfred only to be shoved back as he made another desperate chance at escape. Arthur only held on.

"Let me go.. LET ME GO ARTHUR!"

"Alfred. Look at me."

"NO! NO! HOW CAN I LOOK AT YOU! HOW CAN I LOOK AT ANYONE!"

"Alfred."

Arthur finally managed to pull the younger to look at him, cupping Alfred's soaking cheeks. He wiped away the tears as they fell, staring into the clear blue eyes. Alfred tried to look away, head hung in utter shame. He didn't even know who he was anymore. Didn't even recognize himself or that demon he'd become.

"I love you."

"Why... I'm a demon...A monster, Arthur!"

"No more a monster than what I used to be, boy."

Alfred could find no words enough to argue. He collapsed onto his father's shoulder, arms tight around him as he sobbed into England's shoulder. Arthur simply held tight to him, petting his hair as Alfred let it all out.

"No one understands better than I do, Alfred, what power can do to you. Welcome to what it means to be a nation."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur... I'm so sorry.."

"I know you are, Alfred. You have done only what we all have done at some other points in our history. Created a face to cope with everything that's happening to you. A survival tactic, if you will. Now." Arthur stumbled back over to the chair and made himself decent once more, leaning heavily on the desk for support as he turned back to face his son. "Get yourself a shower and go into the dining room. I'll make tea."

He watched as Alfred hesitated momentarily, about to argue before deciding better of it and slinking off into the other room. Arthur looked back over his shoulder at the dying sun casting golden rays upon the solemn chamber, coming to rest on the colors hoisted on the flagpole near the window. Those colors by any other arrangement would still remind him of the burden he had once, and still yet, carried upon his small shoulders. The torch that had passed onto his son that, as time went on, would only continue to pass down the line slowly destroying those that possessed it.


End file.
